


jump right in and watch the sunrise

by Safe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safe/pseuds/Safe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God has died and we have killed him. But you have John and maybe that's okay because you can believe in him.</p><p>But you shouldn't; you know that. </p><p>He's too good of a picture for you to taint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jump right in and watch the sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to say about this.

You watch silently as the thin ribbon of smoke drifts upwards and slowly breaks into jagged separate pieces that remind you of your own fucked up soul. You can practically hear them screaming release me, release me, because you know there’s something trapped within you and it has slowly been clawing at you since the beginning of forever. Your fingers burn as you play with the lighter, skt-fsh-hss, praying to whatever god is out there to _release me, release me._

And then there’s her, the girl that sits there watching you, upwind. Your smoking always bothered her since it made her sneeze, but that never made you stop. You get the occasional comment of “Those things could kill you,” but you actually like it when she says it. “Those things could kill you” might mean that she actually cares what happens to you, if you tilt your head and stand on one foot. “Those things could kill you” could also mean “I promise not to vomit if you finally admit your feelings for me.” But what it probably means is “Hurry up and kick it,” but even that is flattering because that means she’s paying attention to you. A form of care. Something you don’t deserve.

But that’s just how things are.

“Yeah, they could do the same thing for you too, princess.”

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re a mess. You’re in love with your therapist and you’re pretty sure the only thing she wants from you is to be able to dissect you.

But you wonder if she has a death wish, with how she hangs around you so often. You’re an accident waiting to happen. You corrupt the very air you breath – you shouldn’t be allowed to live. And with how often she associates herself with you, she’s either got a death wish, or she’s retarded. Because nobody is invincible. Not even on meth. Nobody.

Skt-fsh-hss.

“Not if I’m able to get you to stop first. The only one who is allowed to pick you apart is me.”

“Hah. Good luck with that,” you murmur to her, taking another drag of your cigarette. “Love me, baby.”

Good luck with that indeed.

“You are a horrible person, Dave Strider,” she tells you. “A horrible person.”

You’re a horrible person. The truth is the best thing out there when she tells it to you; sharp and quick just like whips. You cherish the welts on your heart just like you cherish the ring that Terezi gave you that you still let dangle around your neck, right over your fucked up heart. The ring that she had thrown in the trash, the ring that you had dug through moldy cheese and who knows what else in order to reclaim.

* * *

Ladling soup into yet another homeless shmuck’s bowl is an adorable parody of your whole life. _Have to stretch it further. Just a bit more water. What? Dude, you came in earlier and your name was Reila, so no, you can’t have more. Step off. What? Ugh, sorry, that was wrong of me. So now you’re going to report me? Go ahead. I work in the kitchen, I can handle the heat. Right. I’m wrong. Sorry, sorry._

You should be.

Are you?

Maybe.

You got this job because of Terezi, who wouldn’t stop bitching about how you weren’t doing anything to help “The good citizens of our city.” She had this fucked up logic in her head that everyone deserved a chance to survive, at least until they landed in her future courtroom where she was allowed to judge them fairly. Fucking nutcase with a lawyer fetish. Goddamn you miss her.

In thirty minutes you’re going to meet John from that one semester of college you actually bothered to take. You had slipped your number into the front pocket of his sweatshirt when you’d spoken to him and pretended that you couldn’t balance equations all so he’d take you home and put out. He used to have a crush on you. But not anymore, because he’d somehow gotten it in his head that he loved you. Idiot.

“Am I done,” you ask, even though you probably already know the answer. Your ‘boss’ was a pretty easy going girl, as long as you did your fair share. And let in any stray cats that happened to cross by.

“Well, I suppose so! Thanks for your hard work, Dave!”

You nod in her direction and shrug off that old apron they give you to wear that you swear smells as bad as some of the people who come in here.

When you walk outside and reach the sidewalk, you can’t help but imagine your body all cut up and spread out on the pavement for all the world to see. You laugh when you think of all the cats and trucks and the stiletto whoreheels that would pass over you, and you head to John’s.

* * *

John has a sister. Her name is Jade, and she’s actually rather pretty. When you get there, she opens the door and says “Hey Dave! John had to run to the store for dad, so go ahead and come in and make yourself at home.” You think it’s rather sweet that they still live with their dad, sweet in that trick-or-treating kind of way that you feel after having too many bits of candy. But you smile instead of saying anything and go in, because she’s pretty. Prettier than John. But not as pretty as Rose, your cutthroat therapist, but that’s because nobody is as pretty as her. 

You notice that she’s wearing a small silver cross around her neck, so you point it out and say “That’s pretty.” You sound like a retard. But you think the idea of Christ is kind of retarded, so it all sort of evens itself off in your head.

“My grandpa gave it to me.” She’s smiling as she looks at you and you can’t help but feel a little good that you got this out of her. And then guilty. Because you know that you don’t deserve to have caused that. “It was a birthday gift. But he died, so...it reminds me of him. I miss him.”

 _I don’t even know who my grandfather is. He’s probably dead by now,_ you think about saying, but you choke it back. _Don’t talk to me. You’ll probably die too. I’m nothing but a bad luck charm,_ you want to say, but you don’t. You don’t really think she’d get it anyway -- too nice of a person. She doesn’t know how you really are. Then again, no one does.

You like it that way. Even though sometimes you wish they could see.

“Sounds terrible,” you say instead, and scoot in a little closer to her. You’re not trying to come onto her or anything, you just want to take in a little more of that sadness before Big Sister comes back and it melts away. You like this Jade. She’s like a different person, in comparison to her usual chipper self.

“He died of lung cancer. Smoking’s a horrible habit -- I really wish John would just quit.”

“Hah, yeah. My therapist tells me that I should quit all the time.”

“You have a therapist?” The question actually makes you chuckle, because she sounds so surprised. As if you’re too good of a person to have one.

“Yeah, she’s a real piece of work, Rose. All the voices in my head are scared of her.” Your eyes drift down to Jade’s necklace, and you wonder if thou shalt not lie is anywhere in that bible that she worships. But honestly, you’re not completely lying. You do hear Rose’s voice in your head sometimes -- telling you exactly what you are. How worthless you are. All the little things that she never says out loud but are usually implied when she speaks.

 _Dave,_ she’ll say, _you’re a pale shadow of a human being. A cheap knock off. You’re all just synthesized counterfeit and nobody knows. And the worst thing is you know she’s right. I hang around because I like messing with your head. Nothing more._

You really do lover her. But then Jade’s laughing again, and you realized you messed up again because it was never your intention to make her laugh.

She opens her mouth and starts to say your name, but in that same instant John enters through the front door and calls “I’m home. NyQuil’s on the kitchen table, so I’ll be up in my room.”

He smiles at you when he comes through the door, all croocked lips and small buck teeth that almost makes you smile. Almost. You know it’s an invitation and who are you to decline.

“I’ll, um, leave you two alone then!” Jade says, and you realize that Big Sister is back, so you can’t help but feel a little let down. You never got to hear Real Jade say your name. You probably didn’t deserve it anyway.

“C’mon Dave! I’ve got my math book upstairs.”

So you get up and start to follow him upstairs, and you can’t help but feel a little out of place in this whole clean house. But you know that none of them see the problem with you; John and Jade’s dad even likes you, as long as you make sure to compliment him on his baking every once in a while. It’s one of the things that makes John groan and Jade laugh, and it’s a little sickening how sweet their whole family is.

But you can’t even think straight because all your mind is focused on is how heavenly John’s ass looks in those jeans.

He slams the door behind you as the two of you reach his room, and you say, “I didn’t come for the book.”

“Well, that’s good,” he says, and when he turns around you can see he has the same idea as you. “Because I actually don’t really have it.”

Not a moment later you’re watching him spread himself out on the bed, and it takes nearly every fiber of your being not to jump him right there. But you know if you did that, you’d be missing the point. You want him to fuck you this time, even though you know he would probably say no. You want to say _I’m wrong, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry_ bit you can’t. Sex is good with John. He’s not Rose, but that’s a good thing. You can’t fuck Rose, because she doesn’t deserve to have your filth on her, in her. Love ruins things, and you can’t ruin the things you love.

But you can have sex with John.

“I missed you,” he breaths, and you crawl on top of him. He smells safe, and you can’t help how your body instantly reacts to him. So instead of thinking, you whisper back an “I missed you too,” and kiss the side of his neck.

Maybe you don’t deserve John, either. You don’t deserve a lot of things. But sex with John isn’t sex with Rose, and you think you need this.

Maybe a part of you craves it.

* * *

She’s sitting across from you in that plush purple seat her mother gave her, something that you learned was awarded as some sort of passive aggressive argument that you never pretended to understand. She’s looking at you with those abnormal purple eyes that you can’t help but admire, and her lips are drawn back into a simple smile that seems much more like a smirk with the way her eyebrows are arched and she must be mocking you, she has to know something, because that’s the expression she wears when she knows something and she’s not telling. 

You stay silent, but you wish she’d give back the cigarettes she snatched at the beginning of this session. At least she let you keep Terezi’s lighter.

skt-fsh-hss.

“That’s quite an interesting face you’re making,” she coos. Sometimes you wonder why she’s even nice to you. She knows that you’re only validated when you’re being put down, and you think that’s maybe why she does it. It would make sense. She has a cruel sense of humor that way.

“What face?”

“I do believe you want to go about having sexual intercourse with me.”

skt-fsh-hss.

“Sure. You’re real attractive, Rose. A total doll.”

skt-fsh-hss.

“But you haven’t gone about making any advances towards me. I do believe I know what that means.”

skt-fsh-hss.

“Really.”

skt-fsh-hss.

“Indeed. Somewhere within that little brain of yours, you’ve convinced yourself that you love me.”

skt-fsh-hss.

“Do not.”

skt-fsh-hss.

“Oh, you do. And it’s an adorable little fact, really, it is.”

skt-fsh-hss skt-fsh-hss fkt-fsh--

“Really, Strider? Are you going to make me beg? Because if I have to spell it out any more than I already have, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.”

Honestly, it’s your name that gets you hard. It’s the way it sounds on her lips that makes it sound all special, even though she’s using your last name and that’s supposed to mean informal.

You don’t want to do this, even though you know you really do, and it’s when she gets on top of you in that chair with both legs spread on both sides of you and her in your lap that you realize you’re fighting a losing battle with yourself. Your heart is the only part that doesn’t want this but who are you to actually listen to that part of yourself anyways. It’s dysfunctional. Broken. Useless.

She wants this. So it’s fine. But this little black chair isn’t going to be able to handle this because you want it hard, and you think she notices because the next thing she says is “Bedroom,” and slowly lifts herself off of you with a tease of a kiss parting her away.

You follow like the little sucker you are.

* * *

It’s freezing in your apartment. The heater broke forever ago but it’s something you don’t even notice anymore. Kind of like you don’t notice the little card sitting on your doorknob about yet another christian group beckoning your ‘much anticipated’ attendance. It’s one of those Godly kinds of bashes where everyone practically creams themselves at the mere thought of being saved. You met this one girl at the soup kitchen one day who is a big fucking fan of it and you made the mistake of feigning interest and she hasn’t left you alone since. Goddamn fucking stalker. 

You check your fridge, but of course there’s nothing in there. Of course there isn’t. You check the pantry and there’s some age-old pretzles in there from when John made a rare appearance at your place, and an empty vodka bottle that should have been thrown out three weeks ago.

No wonder you lost weight.

No wonder you fit in so well at the kitchen.

No wonder John looks at you with those weird expressions like he actually cares or something equally stupid.

You should probably order some chinese or something. You would go to the store, but that would be a pretty dumb thing to do since no one shops well when they’re hungry. One of those things that you learned from Bro when he was still around and probably one of the better habits. Maybe you’ll go later tonight.

But maybe not chinese. You need a new lamp since your last one got broken when you stumbled home drunk one night from the club, and you also need a new flash drive for your computer. In fact you should be saving for a new computer anyways since you’re pretty sure yours is going to take a shit any moment now and you’re not sure what you would do without your music.

So no. You won’t order out because your money could be spent on better things, especially when you can just walk to the store from your house. But not tonight. You’re really fucking tired so maybe you’ll go tomorrow or something.

Yeah. Tomorrow.

* * *

John’s house. John’s room. John’s bed. It’s here that you realize that you haven’t seen or heard so much of a peep out of Rose in three weeks. It’s uncomfortable, because she never goes this long without talking to you, even if it’s only to make subtle little stabs at you. You miss her. You miss her snide comments and her terms of endeermne and you realize just how pathetic you are for wanting her 

“Hn, fuck,” you whisper softly right into John’s mouth, and you know he thinks it’s just for him.

“Yeah,” he breaths, and you think it’s weird how you’re not undressing him and he’s not undressing him, and you sort of agree with him. About the yeah.

You don’t want to think about this anymore.

“Hey, Dave?” John says, as he lowers himself to lay himself down on your chest. It’s a comfortable sensation because by no mean is John short, but he is shorter than you and he can nestle himself up alongside you and fit just like a perfect line of tetris.

“Hm?”

“What are we doing?”

You pause for a moment to let a small smirk make its way across your face, and you know he can’t see it and that’s probably for the best.

“Well, we were kissing the fuck out of each other, but now we’re just lying here and you’re...listening to my heart, or something equally lame. Jeez, Egbert. Let’s make this all romantic and shit.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, and you can feel his frown through the fabric of your shirt. It’s the way his eyebrows draw together and lower, and the way his face contorts like he’s really thinking. “I mean, what are we doing? Like, are we ever going to talk to each other about more than just - just _math?_ You’re not even _taking_ that class! I want to know when we’re actually going to...do something. When you’re going to do more than just be sarcastic around me and try and annoy me by telling my dad to keep making more Batterwitch cakes and tell him that I secretly love them. When are we going to do more than just sleep together?”

“John, don’t.”

“Dave, I’m not an _idiot._ ”

It’s that statement that sort of makes you tense up and freeze. He knows. He knows what you’re doing and he’s not trying to stop it. He’s not trying to make you change, like Rose wants. Wanted. God. What if she left you because you were so bad in bed? Maybe you disgusted her. Before Rose, you had never been in bed with a girl before. Contrary to popular belief.

“Oh yeah?” You’re getting stupidly defensive and you know it. You’re making yourself sound like an idiot, but you can’t really help it at this point. You’re not used to people seeing through you like that.

“Yeah. Look, Dave, whatever happened to you-”

“Don’t make this about me,” you say, and you just sound defeated. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“...Yeah. I know.”

Now hes up and looking for his lighter, and you probably owe him something. You don’t really, you know that, but you can’t help but feel like you do. He figured you out, so...god damn it, you feel so guilty right now, so pathetically guilty-

skt-fsh-hss

“Thanks,” he murmurs, fumbling a little with the cigarette as he exhails, and it’s sweet carcinogenic jizz flowing out of his mouth.

“This isn’t what you think it is,” you same lamely. You’re a douchebag. You don’t really deserve him, you never really did. You just had him because he thought you deserved him - Like Terezi, he thought you were a different person. But unlike Terezi, he won’t throw you away. He’s too soft for that sort of thing. And he thinks he loves you. Fuck, the whole thing is so stupid.

Your phone goes off, a little generic jingle that you never bothered to personalize after you got a new phone, because you were being lazy and didn’t want to take the time to put everything back the way it was, and you swipe it to life. Your little dysfunctional black heart does a little flip when you see it’s from Rose, so you click the little letter icon quickly and scan the text quickly.

_Leaving Washington to go back to New York. It was quite fun while it lasted; I’ll send your diagnosis via mail._

“Bitch,” you whisper quietly. So that really was all you were. An experiment. But you knew that; you always knew that. And you hate it because you still love her, and you ruined her. You ruined her and you’re sitting right next to someone else you ruined, but if you’re honest, John would have been the one to ruin you had you ever been clean to start with.

You steal his cigarette skt-fsh-hss and pray to whatever god is out there to release me, release me.

He lets you and just sort of watches you, watches you like Rose used to watch you, but then again not really. There’s not any malice behind his gaze and it’s an interested look, the innocent kind. You want to shake him. You Are Not Worth His Attention.

“If there’s, y’know, anything that I can do, then...” John rubes the back of his neck and looks away, his voice dying off as he tries to pretend like he never said anything at all. You can see the small workings of a blush glittering his cheeks, and you think it’s sort of adorable, but then you turn your focus back on his words.

“I’m not someone who needs to be saved, John. Don’t you even try.”

“I didn’t say that.” His voice is a little sharp, and you have to keep yourself from grinning again.

“Hm. Just don’t bring this shit up again, alright?” John sort of scares you, but you’d never admit that out loud. You hardly admit it to yourself.

“I didn’t _say_ that!”

This time you just sort of laugh, and that earns you a rather exasperated look from John. You can deal with that.

* * *

Scoop, slop. Scoop, slop. 

Sometimes you really can’t believe you kept this stupid job. Part of you says it’s still for completely ironic purposes, and maybe it really is. You haven’t quite lost touch with that side of you yet. But the other part of you knows you’re still here because of Terezi, because this still reminds you of her, reminds you of how she used to care. You feel a little bad about being this sappy and stupid, but that’s nothing new so you continue on.

Scoop, slop.

Nepeta is watching you curiously, and maybe with a little twinge of worry but you pretend not to notice. She’s a really sweet girl. An old friend of Terezi, and the whole reason you walked into this job the moment your name was dropped. Apparently they used to be old LARPing partners, and the thought makes you laugh. But it’s rather dead, and you know you shouldn’t be making other people worry about you because you’re not worth your attention, but it’s not something you can help.

You’ve hardly said anything to anyone. If it wasn’t to give thanks or answer small questions or argue with Stacy or Kim or whoeverthefuck you were this afternoon, _no, you’ve been through the line already,_ you’ve been quiet. The world should be lucky for a break from all the snark-vomit that constantly falls from your lips.

You forget how long you were there but you suddenly fine yourself standing out on the curb again, once more imagining yourself spread out on the pavement with the bright red whore heels tracking all over your disgustingly mutilated body. For a moment you lean over the edge and think about stepping right out in front of that semi, but you stop yourself.

You stop and think about how John’s heart would probably break and how Jade would cry and how Nepeta would feel guilty and how then Terezi would scorn your existence for bothering to muck up her friend’s feelings.

Instead you pull yourself safely back on the curb, scuffing your bright red converse against the concrete as you look up the sky, shades keeping your eyes safely hidden from the world. You probably shouldn’t stare at the sun like this, even with the protection since your eyes are shit as it is, but you can’t help but stare at the different colors that swirl around the ball that is the sun.

You finally look away when it turns blue, and walk home with someone on your mind. 

* * *

Your standing in the hospital as Jade murmurs something about a ‘bullet’ and ‘not good’ and ‘Terezi’ and you hunch into yourself a little further and you honestly think you’re going to puke. You’re pretty sure you might. Terezi was a major bitch when she left, she made you go dumpster diving for that stupid ring and _no she didn’t you did that to yourself, you do everything to yourself_ and then you’d stolen her lighter. The ring that’s hanging around your neck under your shirt is burning holes in your skin, and you think you might just light up in flames right then and there.

Karkat, loud obnoxious _stealer heartbreaker why are you so much better than me what did she ever see in you that i couldn’t give her why do you even exist_ Vantas stands with Jade, silently crying into her shoulder as she steadily tries to keep her own tears from cascading down her face.

John notices you hanging back and slides closer to you. You accept his hug because by now you know better than to try and say no and jesus he’s trying so damn hard to save you and you really don’t deserve him at all, damn it.

“Dave, you know, if you ever just, I mean you know you can tell me anything-”

“Don’t,” you squeeze out. “I don’t want you to-”

“Deal with it,” He says with a sigh, and you just lean in a little closer to you and his arms tighten in just the slightest bit.

You really love him for that. And the moment you allow the thoughts to slip past your mind, you hate yourself for it. You hate him, too. You don’t fucking deserve him. At all. God damn it.

* * *

He’s kissing you and you’re fucking him and you can hear him saying your name, like it’s magic or god or the great pumpkin king. it takes you a moment to realize that you are returning the favor. 

Fuck.

“Yeah,” He says, and in just a little you’re too spent to actually correct him and you can’t believe you actually said that out loud. Your leaning against his shoulder like a baby or something and you sort of feel like crying again, because you keep taking him. You keep tainting him, god damn it you are so pathetically _selfish why are you doing this_ you don’t deserve him

“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s white hot agony, but it’s real.

“Deal with it,” he says.

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“You know what it means, Dave.”

And you think you do. It means grow up and stop constantly being such a douchebag and stop trying to apologize for all these things that I’ve already forgiven you for and actually deal with his issues and his shoulder is completely sweat soaked and totally not as tanned as his face.

It means stop doing that thing where you hate yourself. But you can’t. You really just don’t deserve -

He bites your ear a little and it tickles so you laugh.

“I love you,” John says, and you stay silent. “I love you, I love you, _I love you._ ”

Your heart jerks a little. “Don’t-”

“Shut the hell up and take it like a man, Dave.”

It’s so funny that you can feel tears sliding down your face.

“Shit, uh...shit, are you _crying?_ ”

“No, I’m laughing.” You roll your head around to face him, to prove that you’re not actually crying. If you were, you might actually be embarrassed. Maybe. If you were normal.

“Whatever. Dave, this is getting _old_.”

“Then leave me behind,” you say. “Dump me. You’re not doing yourself any favors by staying here.”

For a moment, you think he’s actually going to do it. His eyebrows arch like he’s trying to think of the perfect way to tell you that you’re nothing but a punkass loser, that he was an idiot for staying here this long, that you’re pathetic and g _et out of my room and stay out of my life._

But then he sits on you.

He fucking. _Sits_ on you. It’s sort of like a bad dream because he’s way too close to you and this isn’t like sex, but you know it isn’t and this is just torture. He’s sitting on you, and he is expecting something. He’s no longer a replacement. You don’t think he ever was to begin with. That bothers you because that’s all you had ever wanted him to be.

Skt-fsh-hss.

You play with your lighter because it’s the one thing that always keeps you from thinking. Pray to god or the great pumpkin king or whatthefuck ever release me.

“Have you ever let someone in? Have you been this closed off for your entire life?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” It’s the truth, and faintly you sort of wish that it wasn’t. Except not really. Because trusting people is nothing more than a death sentence.

“I love you,” he says.

“Don’t,” you say.

“Look, if I promise to leave the moment I hear something that I don’t like, will you just...promise to tell me something? _Anything?_ I know you, Dave. I know that you are a fucking master at irony and you hardly take anything serious at all. I know it’s a defense mechanism and you keep with it because it reminds you of your brother. I know that you love music always to a fault, but that you stopped producing it once your bro died. I know that you were in love with Terezi, and that you used to get along with Karkat really well before she chose him over you. I know you blame yourself from things _so much_ and-”

“Stop,” you tell him, but you don’t push him off. In a way, it’s good to hear him saying all these things to you. It hurts you in the best way. It’s been a while since you have been hurt like this.

“Start,” he counters.

So you do. You explain that Terezi was probably the first person you’d ever loved and fallen so far for, and you’d lied to her. You’d pretended to be everything that she loved because you were desperate for her attention. You tell him that you were nothing but a piece of ass for her to try and get Karkat’s attention and she thought that your personality was too flat, too boring and too repetitive. She only kept you along for so long because she knew that you loved her and it made her laugh.

You tell him that Rose only wanted you around because you were so boring, so stagnant, and she wanted to see what was going on behind your head even though there was nothing. You explain that after she got what she wanted from you that she vanished and left you in the dust, just like Terezi did, because honestly you are nothing.

You tell him that he needs to leave you because you are disgusting and that you know he loves you, and that he needs to leave you alone because he deserve someone worthy, that he shouldn’t touch you because you really don’t deserve it at all, _don’t touch me, don’t you get it, I’m nothing but poison._

John doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t make any move to and instead he just wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you. You feel far too light, he’s just taken something from you, but you can’t for the life of you figure out what it is.

“I don’t deserve to love you,” you tell him, and you hear a small chuckle in your ear as he hugs you tighter.

“Deal with it.”


End file.
